Summer Waterfalling

How far would you walk for a waterfall?  What do you take away from the cool rush of a few moments there?

Last week, my husband and I were led by a friend to see a place called Rainbow Falls, at the head of the Ausable Chasm in the Adirondacks.  Since we had just spent a lovely few hours hiking and then paddling around in boats on the lake, we only needed to take a short jog up to see the breathtaking cascade of water and mist.

In that the bus was coming shortly to pick us up, we did have a little time pressure: we had to step gingerly over the slippery rocks and could only stay about as a long as it took to snap a few pictures.

I’m glad we got the visual memory, but I always feel a little silly about this kind of thing.  I’m not sure whether the photograph actually helps us preserve the experience or whether it represents time taken away from the heart of the experience itself.  Maybe I don’t need to be too fussy about this; it wasn’t as if there was a huge choice to make or anything.  But it is kind of about which moments matter most, and why.

Afterwards, I remembered other summers and other waterfalls.  There was the time our whole family went to Rocky Mountain National Park and lingered for a while along a stream with various sections of falls.  Besides being conscious of the beauty of the place, we were also aware of our togetherness – a state we had rarely achieved for any length of time over the preceding school and work year with so many separate activities.  Then there was the summer after that when we stayed with members of my family in upstate New York and spent an afternoon hiking down a somewhat treacherous trail (“You OK up there? Take it easy!”) to get right underneath a spectacular– and loud – torrent of water and accompanying pools. Getting to the place gave us a goal, and we did take a bunch of pictures, but the laughter among cousins and aunts and uncles going down as well as coming up was about as valuable as any time spent next to the waterfall itself.

Then again, for the most faithful waterfall seekers, relatives are optional. You won’t be surprised to learn that people who engage in this activity alot begin to use the verb “waterfalling.”  On the charming website http://www.world-of-waterfalls.com/ you can learn as much as you might like to know about the whole subject, starting with – of course – the location of the best waterfalls in the world.  Pictures galore, of course.  Looking for a reason to head to New Zealand?  There’s also a whole essay about the health benefits of waterfalls, something about negative ions in the air being better than positive ions.  Chemistry, then, helps explain why we feel “mellowed out” when we get close to the cool spray.  (As the mother of someone putting pedal to the metal to study the subject this summer, this is welcome news.)  And the writer even makes a claim that finding waterfalls can help us achieve “optimization of limited time on earth.”  Better get out on those slippery rocks some more, I guess.

Speaking of facing the inevitable prospect of death, that perennial subject, I think I know another reason why waterfalls are so compelling.  It has to do with our delight in seeing the way the water hurls itself over the rocks with such complete abandon. For us alone in our bodies, it would be out of the question.   Except for falling in love – a notable exception — most of the going over cliffs or collapsing that we do results in injury.  (Could you imagine a word like “grandmotherfall” being anything but negative?) We like the idea of letting go completely, but usually we can’t do it.  There are speed limits, work schedules, bills to pay, borders to stay within, tongues to hold.  We say to another, “Be safe.”  This is as it should be…to a point.  Sometimes, though, aren’t we craving a kind of release?

The thing is, sometimes even a modest brook close to home with enough vitality and sound will provide some of this feeling. Until you have a chance to find your own waterfalls, wherever they may be, I will leave you with this:

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